Chapter 3 - The Night Brussels Stopped Dancing
On the evening of June 15, Brussels tried to celebrate.
That sounds absurd now.
At the time, it seemed perfectly natural.
The Duchess of Richmond was holding a great ball. Officers, aristocrats, diplomats, and fashionable families filled the city with carriages.
I was not invited.
This was probably for the best.
I owned exactly one coat suitable for respectable society, and Mercer had already informed me that it made me look like a poorly dressed undertaker.
But I went near the district.
A writer can learn much from standing outside rooms he cannot enter.
Music floated into the street.
Carriages arrived.
Women stepped down in silk and pale gowns.
Officers entered in dress uniforms.
Lamps shone from windows.
Servants waited outside.
You could almost believe Europe was at peace.
Nearby taverns filled with junior officers and soldiers who had no invitation to dance with nobility.
I joined them.
That was where I met William Carter.
He was twenty-four.
English.
A private soldier.
Brown hair cut badly.
Narrow face.
Quick smile.
His boots were already in poor condition.
He caught me staring at them.
“You want them?”
“No.”
“Good. Neither do I.”
I laughed.
He asked what I did.
“Travel writer.”
He stared.
“That’s a job?”
“Occasionally.”
“You get paid?”
“Occasionally.”
“That’s not a job.”
We drank weak beer.
William had joined the army after working in his uncle’s warehouse.
“Better life?” I asked.
He considered.
“Different boots.”
Outside, music continued.
Then shortly before midnight, something changed.
A mounted officer arrived at speed.
Another followed.
Messages passed.
Men began leaving.
At first one carriage.
Then another.
Officers came out of houses still wearing formal uniforms.
Some did not even change before mounting horses.
The mood in the tavern shifted.
William stood.
“What happened?”
Nobody answered.
Then someone said:
“The French are moving.”
Chairs scraped.
Men finished drinks.
Some did not.
A young lieutenant entered and shouted for his company.
Music still played in the distance.
That was the strangest part.
The dance had not yet stopped.
I stepped outside.
A woman in a white dress stood beside a carriage arguing with an officer.
“You said morning.”
“I know.”
“You said we had until morning.”
“I was wrong.”
She grabbed his sleeve.
He looked around, embarrassed by emotion in public.
Then he stopped caring.
He kissed her.
Not politely.
Not like a gentleman at a ball.
Like a man trying to remember something.
Then he climbed into the carriage with three other officers.
The horses moved.
She remained in the street.
The music finally ended.
Not gradually.
It simply stopped.
For a few seconds Brussels seemed unnaturally quiet.
Then orders, hooves, wheels, bells, boots.
War had entered the city without firing a shot.
William found me again.
“We’re moving.”
“When?”
“Now.”
He tightened the strap of his pack.
“Where?”
“South.”
Everyone was going south.
I walked with him toward his regiment.
Soldiers emerged from quarters half-awake.
Some had been drinking.
Some were laughing.
Others said nothing.
One young man carried his musket in one hand and a shoe in the other while trying to put it on as he walked.
A sergeant cursed him with great imagination.
William adjusted his pack.
“You still writing?”
“Yes.”
“Then write something useful.”
“What?”
“That the army should issue better boots.”
“I already have.”
“Good man.”
His regiment formed.
I wanted to say something serious.
Something worthy of history.
Instead I said:
“Try not to get shot.”
He laughed.
“I’ll do my best.”
The column moved.
I watched him disappear.
By two in the morning, roads south of Brussels were crowded.
Infantry.
Cavalry.
Artillery.
Wagons.
Messages.
Confusion.
I returned to my room but did not sleep.
From my window I watched soldiers march beneath the lamps.
Some sang.
Some stumbled.
Most simply walked.
Near dawn I opened my notebook.
I wrote:
Last night Brussels danced.
Tonight it listens to boots.
Then I packed.
Mercer had told me to meet his wagons at first light.
May you like
I had come to Belgium to describe peace.
Apparently, Europe had changed the assignment.
